


Three Days Late (The You Were Never Here Remix)

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, New Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Avengers Vol. 5 (2013), Bad Decisions, Community: cap_ironman, Consent Issues, Getting Together, M/M, Mindwiping, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-07 04:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13426458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: After years of friendship, Steve finally tells Tony he has feelings for him. Tony ought to be overjoyed. But Tony and the Illuminati just wiped Steve's mind.





	Three Days Late (The You Were Never Here Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Intentions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13406985) by [dapperanachronism](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperanachronism/pseuds/dapperanachronism). 



> The consent issues are due to the mindwipe.
> 
> Thanks to Kiyaar and Magicasen for beta.
> 
> This remix is part of a chain; you can find the full [masterlist](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cap_Ironman_Relay_Remix_2018/profile) on the Collection profile page. Specifically, this is a remix of dapperanachronism's [Intentions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13406985) (MCU) and it was remixed into a_salty_alto's [What You Don't Know (The Things Left Unsaid Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13479030) (MCU).

On the third night, Tony is lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. He watches the shadows. He never keeps it pitch-black at night; he's always been afraid of the dark. So the New York skyline casts its light through the tower's windows, strewing long, strange shadows over the chairs, the carpet, the bed. The bathroom door is open, and the light's on, brighter, spilling across the other half of the room, over the clothes puddled on the floor, up and onto the bed. 

Tony dares a glance next to him. Steve is soundly asleep, his chest rising and falling as he breathes. He's lying on his side, curled toward Tony, absolutely trusting. His hair is mussed, and the covers are pushed down far enough, exposing one bare hip, that it's clear that he's naked. Steve smells like sex. Anyone would know what they've been up to. Everyone knows what they've been up to. Tony's wanted this for years.

Tony wants to throw himself out the window.

Oh, it's not a suicidal impulse. For someone else it might be, but he's Iron Man. When he falls, he flies. No, what he wants is to get away. He lets his brain imagine this fantasy, a perfect escape: he'd tie all the bedsheets together, like a child planning to run away from home. An engineer's fantasy, obviously, building his own means of escape, with himself as a low-tech Daedalus. He'd make a rope of the sheets, and he'd climb down. And he'd run. He'd leave this all behind. Now, before it's too late.

He looks at Steve, and he knows it's already too late.

He doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve Steve, and only he knows it. That's not precisely true; six other people in the world know it. But none of them are telling.

He can't climb out the window, anyway. They live in the tower now. He's ninety floors up. That was really more a fantasy for the mansion; they all lived on the second floor. It would have worked, back then.

Of course, back then he wasn't a monster, either.

Steve makes a soft, broken, whimpering noise in his sleep. A nightmare. He's always had a lot of bad dreams.

Tony knows he's the architect of them now.

* * *

This is how it happens.

On the first day, eight men meet in the darkness, among the dead of Wakanda, and they try to save the world. The skies are red in Pakistan, and the Infinity Gauntlet shatters in Steve's hand, and after that, they have nothing. No way to save their own world except by killing another. 

And Steve, a bright-eyed optimist to his last breath, stares them all down, and he clings to his heart, and he clings to his soul, and he tells them he cannot send another world to die.

And Tony looks back, and he says _I'm sorry_ , and he says _do it_ , and he watches Steve fall, sprawling unconscious on the cold stone floor. He watches Stephen Strange rip his memories from him.

Steve will never remember this. Tony has ruined him, and Steve will never know. He prays to a god he doesn't believe in that Steve will never know.

Tony picks Steve up in his arms, and he carries him out of the Necropolis. He carries him into the Quinjet. He flies him home. He puts Steve to bed. And he sits there, in his workshop, with his machines, and he thinks about what he did, and he thinks about what he's become, and he thinks about what it will take to stop him. And then he goes upstairs, and he wakes Steve up.

* * *

On the first night, he puts his arm over Steve's shoulders, and he smiles a liar's smile, and he tells Steve his plan for the team. He tells Steve he's had an idea. He tells Steve they have to get bigger. He tells Steve there's something coming, when six hours ago Steve would have known that intimately. He tells Steve they'll recruit a team, the two of them, and hold them in reserve, waiting for the day when they need them.

They'll need them if Steve ever finds out.

"And then, when that day comes," Tony says, "all you have to do is say the words."

Tony's punishment will be swift and brutal. He knows he's earned it.

He watches Steve blink at him, slow and innocent. He watches Steve sip his coffee.

"So we'll run a team. You and me together, huh?" Steve asks, with that easy, brilliant smile. "Just like the old days?"

"Just like the old days," Tony echoes, and he thinks about Steve's blank gaze as he lay on the floor of the Necropolis, as he stared up at nothing. "Together."

"Well," Steve says, like everything is simple, "you're the genius. And you say something's coming. I trust you."

Tony represses a shudder.

"But," Steve says, thoughtfully, and Tony entertains the brief and intense hope that now Steve will come to his senses, "I just want to say that I have another idea. While we're on this topic."

"Oh?"

Steve sets his mug down, and then he reaches out, and very gently, puts his hand to the side of Tony's face. His fingers are warm and soft. His gaze is taut, a little tense. But he's confident, too. He knows Tony wants this. And Tony wanted this. Before today, Tony might even have thought he could someday have this.

Tony takes a slow, ragged breath, and he pushes back all the tears. He doesn't deserve this. He knows it's something he's always thought about Steve -- hell, it's why he's never made a move before. He certainly wasn't going to now. But Steve doesn't know that. Tony's already broken them.

Steve's thumb smooths over Tony's traitorous mouth, and Tony smiles another lying smile.

"I've wanted you for so long," Steve whispers, and he's so kind, and he's so sweet, and there's a gaping wound inside his head where Tony pulled his soul out of him. "And I just thought that... you said _together_ , and maybe we could... be together?"

Tony shuts his eyes. He breathes. In. Out. In.

He imagines what will happen, if Steve ever remembers. He imagines Steve's grip tightening. He imagines Steve's hand on his throat.

Maybe he owes this to Steve. Maybe this is a trade. He took Steve's mind from him. He can give him something, anything in return. If this is what Steve wants, he can give him this. Maybe this can be penance. Maybe this can be an apology.

Steve's voice is more uncertain now, as he goes on. "I mean," he says, haltingly, "if I'm-- if I'm wrong-- but I thought, maybe, you wanted me too? I think we'd be good for each other. And you know I think the world of you, Tony. I always have. We've been through so much together, and sure, we've had some troubles, but we're stronger now." Steve stumbles a little, stutters, misses a word. His breathing is shallow. "I thought-- I just thought you felt the same way about me--"

This is what Tony's always wanted. He can't turn away. Not now. He's weak. He's always been weak. 

"Yeah," Tony says, hoarsely. He opens his eyes. His pulse pounds in his head. "I-- I did. I do. I do."

_Liar_ , his mind whispers, to the rhythm of the blood in his veins. _Liar, destroyer, traitor, thief. This isn't yours to have. This isn't yours to keep._

And Steve smiles, and Steve pulls him into his arms, and Steve kisses him for the first time, and Steve holds him tight.

* * *

On the second night, they have the Avengers over for dinner.

There isn't a team now, really -- not the team Tony is imagining building, anyway. Just a skeleton crew of veterans, people hanging around on-call. Clint, Natasha, Bruce, Thor. Not enough to stop him. But enough for dinner, certainly.

There's an idea in his head, all-consuming, like so many other ideas he's had recently. But this one dwarfs them all. He shouldn't be with Steve, and he knows it.

Even though the table is huge, Steve sits next to him, right next to him, and Steve wraps his arm around Tony's shoulders, and Steve puts his hand on Tony's thigh, and Steve eases into his personal space in a way he's never done before, in a way they've never allowed themselves to do before, in a way Tony's always wanted. Steve smiles at him.

Tony smiles back and pretends he should be allowed to have this.

When he looks up, Natasha is watching him, and her gaze narrows. Tony knows they can't put anything past her, anyway, even if they try, which Steve certainly hasn't been.

He imagines Natasha, Clint, the rest of the table ganging up on him. Telling him to be careful with Steve. Telling him not to break Steve's heart.

In his fantasies, people always know the truth about Tony. They can see inside him. They know everything he knows about himself, everything he believes, everything he's done, everything he's going to do. In his fantasies, no one is kinder to him than he deserves.

He wonders when his day of reckoning is coming.

"I, uh," Tony says. "I need more water."

He shoots out of his chair so fast it nearly tips over, and he's in the kitchen. His hand shakes as he fills his glass from the pitcher. Water spills on the counter.

"They're our friends, you know," Steve says, from behind him, and Tony whips around.

"Steve?"

"I see you running away," Steve says, with a faint smile, and he steps behind Tony, trapping him against the kitchen island. He wraps his arms around him, surrounding him, holding him tight. "There you are," he whispers.

It should be reassuring. Steve cares about him. Steve loves him. If you asked Steve, Tony thinks Steve would append the word _unconditionally_ , but Tony's made a habit of finding the conditions.

_You should leave me_ , he doesn't say. Instead, he says, "What do you think they're saying about us right now?"

Steve's hearing is peak-human. Steve could tell him. He's not sure Steve would.

"They're our friends and they like us," Steve says, firmly. "They like you. They're going to be happy. I'll talk to them."

"You don't need to--"

"I'll talk to them," Steve repeats.

Tony exhales hard. "Okay."

Steve's arms tighten around him, drawing him closer, like he wants to shield Tony, like he can protect him from his own thoughts, like he knows what Tony's thinking. Steve's always wanted to save him from himself. Steve's never known what was good for him. Tony's not the one who needs saving.

_Everything dies_ , they said, in the Necropolis, and Tony shivers as Steve nuzzles the back of his neck.

* * *

On the morning of the third day, Clint calls him. Avengers non-priority, video call. Natasha is looking over his shoulder.

"You and Steve, huh?" Natasha asks.

Tony nods and smiles a thin smile.

"Don't fuck it up," Clint says.

* * *

On the third night, Tony rises from bed. He moves slowly and softly; Steve doesn't stir. He pads quietly across the carpeted floor into the bathroom. He looks at himself in the mirror. His hair is a mess. Steve's mouth has left shadows of bruises at his throat; Steve's hands have left subtle marks on his hips. He looks like he's had an amazing night.

He looks himself in the eye. He doesn't look guilty at all.

He's always been a good liar.

Tony swallows.

"Steve," he says to the mirror, "you know how much I care about you, but I'm not ready for a relationship right now."

He sighs.

"I'm not in a good place," he says, experimentally.

He remembers the way his boots echoed on the stone floor of the Necropolis.

"It's not you, it's me," he tries, and then he glares at himself. "I know, it's such a cliché. Fuck. I can't say that."

He sighs again. He paces the bathroom. He runs his hands through his hair. He looks himself in the eye again. He looks hollow. Tired.

He thinks about what they did to Steve, there in the darkness.

He thinks about what Steve did to him.

He's always hated the darkness. But he does what needs to be done. He's going to save the world. Steve didn't understand that. Steve couldn't understand that. Maybe it's better if Steve doesn't understand. Steve is a good man, an idealist. Steve lives in the light. Tony's got to do what Steve can't.

He wonders how long the amnesia will hold. Maybe it's not permanent. Maybe the serum will fix it. It would be just like Steve to be able to do that, to always find his way back to the truth.

"I'm just not good enough for you," he says. He keeps his voice even, level, explanatory. "I know you're going to disagree with me, but trust me, Steve." _Don't trust me_. "It's true. I'm not good enough. You're... you, and I'm just. I'm flawed." He swallows past the painful lump in his tightening throat and keeps talking. "I've made so many mistakes, Steve. I've done terrible things. You have no idea what I've done. I can't be what you need. I'll hurt you. I-- I've hurt you before. And I know I will again. And I think-- I think it's best if we just walk away now, before we get too attached."

Tony is already too attached. It's a problem.

He screws his eyes shut, so he doesn't have to look at himself anymore, and he leans on the counter and breathes. His face is hot.

When he opens his eyes, Steve is in the mirror, standing behind him.

"Tony," Steve says, reproachfully. But he sounds patient. He sounds kind. He sounds like so many things Tony shouldn't have anymore.

Tony turns around so he can lie directly to Steve's face. "I couldn't sleep."

"I heard you," Steve says, very quietly, and then he smiles, a lopsided smile. "I knew you were going to try this, you know. Contrary to what you seem to believe, I do actually know you."

_No, you don't_ , Tony thinks. _Not like this._

"So I know," Steve continues, "that you get these moods of yours. When something good happens to you, something that makes you really, really happy -- you get to telling yourself you're not good enough for it. And then you try to push back. You deny yourself. You tell yourself that this is what you deserve. You tell yourself it's all going to go wrong. So, you get together with me, you start telling yourself that you're going to screw it up."

Tony can't look at him. "But I will," he says. _I already have._

But Steve just smiles again. "How long have we known each other, Tony?"

Tony doesn't even have to think about it. "Eleven years, this March."

"And would you say," Steve presses, "that we've been pretty good friends? That even when we've had problems, we've worked through them and come back to each other?"

Jesus, is he ever missing the point. He doesn't know.

"Yeah," Tony admits. It feels like committing adultery.

Steve's smiling at him again, open and pleading, earnest. "So how about you give the two of us more than three days together before you decide to call it quits, huh?"

Steve holds out his arms. Steve waits.

In the end, Tony can never walk away from him.

It's only been three days, he tells himself. He can give it three more. A week, maybe. It's going to be okay. He's buying time for the Illuminati. He's good at secrets.

He wants Steve to be happy. Steve wants this. He can give him this.

Just once in his life, Tony wants to be happy. This isn't going to be his chance. He's never going to have a chance. But he was never going to be able to say no to this.

He stumbles forward into Steve's embrace. Steve wraps his arms around him. He realizes he's shaking.

"Shh," Steve whispers. "There you go, Tony. It's okay. You've got me. I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

Steve brings a hand up and runs his fingers through Tony's hair. It's a delicate motion. A caress. 

_If you ever find out what I did to you_ , Tony thinks, _you're going to murder me._

Gently, so gently, Steve tips Tony's chin up, and Steve kisses him, soft and sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr post](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/171496075799/fic-three-days-late-the-you-were-never-here).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [What You Don't Know (The Things Left Unsaid Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13479030) by [a_salty_alto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_salty_alto/pseuds/a_salty_alto)




End file.
